After the market

A poem by Ansel.

The last man folds his awning.
Water runs along the crease
and falls where he was standing
before he moved the van.

He shakes the striped cloth once.
A second shower strikes
the upturned bottoms of the crates.
He leaves it hanging from his arms.

Where the potato stall has gone,
a pale rectangle holds
the prints of four small wheels
and half a chalked-out price.

The man begins again,
bringing one wet edge to meet
the other. His keys fall out.
He follows them down with the cloth.

Under the van the keys lie bright
beside a split green band.
He pushes with a piece of wood.
The keys move further in.

The rain has reached the price.
The seven loses its top bar.
He spreads the cloth beside the wheel
and lies down with one arm beneath the van.